


Meteor Showers (or why is my heart beating so fast )

by lechatnoir



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meteor showers and first kisses , or a collection of drabbles depicting Cecil and Carlos' relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kiss Me Softly

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @ chrysanthemumskies

I.

The first time they had gone on a date, things had gone well - mysterious and quite violent shadow cloud aside - it had gone well.

For the record, the car ride was quiet with nothing but the static of the radio keeping them company as they had sped down the street to escape being turned into a ravenous shadow thing but for all things considered, Cecil hadn't expected to be kissed by Carlos.

It wasn't like he hasn't been kissed before - there was only so much alcohol one can take in before having an argument with the mirror results in you trying to kiss it senseless because when was the last time anyone actually kissed you or made you feel like there were uh, butterflies in your stomach ?

(Recent reports show that having butterflies in your stomach may or may not result in needing medicinal assistance for surgical procedures to remove said insects from your body .

In other words, it's a health hazard, don't do it , Citizens of Night Vale)

He laughs because he knows how this works, right ?

Nothing to it!

(Wrong, he doesn't have a clue and it feels as if his heart's beating like a hummingbird or something of the equivalence and it possibly can't be healthy for him but he thinks he can let that slide just this once )

There's a quiet nervous laughter between them before Carlos moves and kisses him gently before moving away and slipping off into his lab and there's a stunned little silence that wraps itself around Cecil and he can't help but run a hand through his hair and he thinks his glasses may have fogged up quite a bit in what may have been a side effect of these so called 'butterflies in his stomach ' that he was experiencing and he thinks that he rather liked being kissed by Carlos.

 

(He can proudly say that as far as first kisses go, he wouldn't have it any other way , and he had hoped that Carlos thought that way as well)

ii.

Not too long after their (quite successful ) first date, there had been a string of dates and needless to say , it was quite a pleasant shock to Cecil when at the end of every date , there would be a little kiss goodbye.

It was, as was everything that Carlos did - in its own way, perfect. 

Cecil thinks that maybe he should start carrying a little calender or a planner and mark down the days of their planned dates (not that he needed to be reminded of these grand and marvelous outings with the perfect Carlos- he could barely restrain his excitement for the ends of his shifts at the station because that brought the promised days even more closer to actually happening and sometimes he needed a little moment to calm down before Management decided to get angry with him on the spot.

It wasn't so much to mark down their dates but more so mark how many times Carlos would kiss him.

He thinks it's a brilliant idea, as long as no one finds out - he says this to Khoshekh before drying his hands and giving the floating cat a quick scratch behind the ears before returning to his show with a grin on his face. 

Iii.

Cecil Baldwin is a man who doesn't let anything phase him , not for the most part.

(Unless it had to do with killing you r double or Carlos.

Or both.) 

Which is why he was repeating to himself that things were alright like a mantra after one of their dates and Carlos had noticed and had grabbed his hand , tattoos and all and said - "Cecil, what's the matter ? - and Cecil could only laugh and shake his head and say that everything was quite alright with him even as there was a haunted look on his face and Carlos would move and brush his fingers against the loose curls of Cecil's unruly hair and he'd lean in and kiss him gently, and somehow that made everything right again, in Cecil's little book.

Iv. 

Sometimes when the night was dead as the sea, Cecil would wake up , call Carlos and ask if he wanted to go and see a new museum or go do something that wouldn't actually mean anything, not really, but to Cecil it made things safer , more stronger even.

(Like maybe something would work out between the two of them)

He remembers taking Carlos out to see a nearby meteor shower and there had been multiple reasons as to why and how it was obviously a government experiment (because we all know the government controls the weather) but it was fine - he might have even called it perfect.

 

It was just sitting on the roof of Cecil's trusty old car, fingers laced together and it was Cecil who let out a nervous laugh before leaning in and asking if it was alright for him to kiss Carlos -

(For purely scientific reasons of course)

\- and he was pleasantly surprised when Carlos smiled and tugged him closer, and it was alright.

(He thinks he rather likes meteor showers , and so does Carlos.

Whether or not for purely scientific reasons - well, we may never know .)


	2. Slow and Steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, what is love and the ocean and there are kisses in the rain that drag them down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'm chrysanthemumskies over on tumblr uwu

I.

It's an odd feeling- this love sort of feeling. 

It was odd and a bit confusing - after all, what sort of tragedies did it bring , and how did it even come in and seize him by his chest? 

Slamming him against the wall until he can't breathe and it's odd and terrifying - not as terrifying as the doubles - although, maybe it was even more terrifying than those doubles because of how unpredictable it was and how it colored his little town varying shades of pink and purple and blue blue blue like the dark midnight sky. 

Maybe love was a parasite alien come to take over the world as we know it by creating host bodies and feeding off of our life forms ? 

He doesn't know, and thinks maybe Carlos knows the answer, being a scientist and all, doing those scientist sort of things . 

 

He was bound to know.

And so he asked , over a little lunch break out by Arby's.

"Carlos?"

"Mm?"

"What is love?"

"I don't quite know the answer to that."

"Huh, neither do I ."

"Why'd you ask, Cecil?"

(There's a slight shiver that runs through Cecil's body as he averts his gaze and laughs a bit, nervous and all, but that might just have been the aftermath of having a chicken wrap and the odd wind blowing at the time of day, that's all)

"Oh just wondering , that's all really."

Carlos can only smile and take off his lab coat, draping it over Cecil's shoulders as he moves closer to him on the rickety wooden bench in front of Arby's. 

It's nice, and Cecil doesn't notice it, how Carlos' hand gently moves closer to his own, fingers curling around his wrist gently , like feathers dancing along the breeze. 

He doesn't mind it.

_It's rather nice, actually._

(Maybe this is love?) 

And he curls his fingers against Carlos' and they're both content, just like that.

With a content little warm silence that folds up around them and the wind dancing along with the clouds in the sky for that lone day, clear skies with no five headed fire breathing dragons in sight. 

ii.

Sometimes he wonders if there's such a thing like mountains, or if Carlos is simply humoring him by saying that mountains actually exist , even though Cecil _knows_ that they probably don't even exist , that it's the doing of the government to keep things on the hush low .

Still , he can't help but wander if there's such a thing like an ocean , or the sea.

And sometimes he tells himself to stop being so stupid, that of course there isn't an ocean .

They were long non existent , gone - simply fabled myth mothers told their children before tucking them into bed.

Still, he couldn't shake off the nagging question and so he asked perfect perfect Carlos who smiled and said 

"Of course. I'll take you there some day soon."

And maybe there is such a thing as a ocean .

_And hopefully it won't steal my Carlos away._

Cecil thinks to himself ,curled up in blankets and very few things on his mind , and he isn't expecting any visitors , but it seems as if the Glow Cloud has returned and it was raining cats and dogs and there's a knock on his door, with no one but a very wet an disgruntled Carlos on his doorstep.

 

iii. 

"Carlos! What happened to you? You're not hurt are you? Not paralyzed with fear or being mind controlled by the little trolls living underneath lane 5? "

Is at the tip of Cecil's tongue, but he restrains himself from categorizing - and his brain seems to have short circuited as Carlos laughs and leans in to kiss him gently while it rains outside like the damned.


	3. Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a warm sun that dances along his eyelashes and caramel kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more of these two idiots being adorable together uwu
> 
> aka Michi can't stop writing wtnv stuff WHOOPS;
> 
> you can find me on tumblr over @ chrysanthemumskies.

i.

Sometimes, in the dead of the night, Cecil would wake up, body cold and a fever that he can’t sweat out clambering up inside of him.

There is nothing but the sound of his breaths – ragged, panicked, and he doesn’t know why, or how exactly, he came to be.

He knows that after the events of the Doubles and the mysterious Sandstorm that seemed to have destroyed and rebuilt Night Vale as he knew it , the dreams were reoccurring.

He can only laugh, shaky and afraid.

(There is nothing to be afraid of.

It’s only the dark.

 

But it’s cold, isn’t it?

And you’re alone.

 

All.

Alone. ) 

 

He thinks that maybe this is the Glow Cloud’s doing, or the government – surely it can’t be the Secret Police? 

Maybe it’s just the constant bundle of being nervous all the time that’s catching up to him – the fact that sometimes, he thinks back to a old , metal trophy that was cold in his hands, voice trembling and cracking as he had reported what had happened, when he had almost lost Carlos and there’s a laughter that bubbles up through his throat and he thinks that he needs to get out, needs to get out of his skin, get away.

He doesn’t know why, or how, but he gets up out of bed, stumbling and sleep deprived and hits his shoulder on the doorframe, muttering and cursing under his breath.

He leaves his little home, and wonders as to why this is happening to him – it’s not like he can actually feel pain, he had said so himself , not too long ago, that he was (along with 53% of the other residents of Night Vale) born without any pain sensing nerves. 

It’s odd, unsettling even.

Still, he manages to sit down on the steps, and look up at the sky that seems to be looking down at him, something like curiosity or pity - he can’t quite tell. 

 

There’s an old wind that howls through the night, and he falls asleep there, on the steps of his home.

There’s something warm draped around him , in the morning when the sun hums along the tips of his eyelashes.

Slowly but surely, Cecil wakes up and rubs his eyes, and looks to see the old woolen duvet he had gotten from Old Woman Josie, who had a habit of knitting things with the Angels when they got bored of things.

It was warm and scratchy even, but it worked.

(He probably would have felt the cold air during the night, and would have quite possibly woken up from the shivers.

Instead, he didn’t.) 

He doesn’t know how exactly it managed to get to where it was now, on him, seeing as he remembers putting it away in the closet near the doorway of his home – it wasn’t as if now the blanket had little feet and could walk on its own, can it? 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” 

A voice says, caramel and warm and silky smooth and utterly perfect – at least, to Cecil’s ears.

And oh, how embarrassing!

“C-Carlos? What are you how --?” 

 

“I was coming home late from the lab last night, and I passed by your place when I saw you sleeping out here – and I figured I’d stay the night, though when I tried to wake you up you were stone cold and out like a lamp, so I ran back inside – the door was open, you see – and got the warmest thing I could find, and then I sat with you and tried to move you a bit to get some of your blood circulating but you were in a pretty deep sleep, so I just wrapped you up in it and kept the door open so I could keep an eye out just in case anyone came lurking on by and –“

It was at this point that Cecil had grinned like a madman foolishly in love, and pulled Carlos down, kissing him soundly.

“Good morning indeed.”

“You’re going to tell this to everyone on your show today, aren’t you.” Carlos mutters, laughing a bit as he leaned against Cecil. 

“Of course. This is better than any date that I’ve had. Well, minus our first date. You know, that time we almost got chased by the mysterious shadow ? “ 

“Are you always this chatty in the morning, Cecil?”

“N-no, why?”

“Nothing, you’re just adorable.”


	4. Movie Night Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which intern Dana had a few ideas about a movie night with Cecil and Carlos - or, rainy days and old odd oak wood doors with houses and lighthouses nearby and inside . 
> 
> (Spoilers for episode 30 of Welcome to Night Vale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also up on tumblr uwu
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ chrysanthemumskies

i.   
The house is odd, when she wanders through the Dog Park and the Hooded Figures seem to swarm around her and watch her - quietly, in thier own sort of way. 

They watch her and she wonders why they're there. Or if they can even see her - if they can sense the anxiety - no, uncertainty - of where she was and how to get out.

It wasn't like she could remember, not like she could somehow climb up the walls and magically end up home. 

So when she stumbled upon the house, with it's odd photographs and the strange man who seemed to walk right through her, she didn't think twice about dialing Cecil - and she couldn't quite hear him, not really.

It was all static-y, and odd, and there was a ominent little glow that came from her cell phone - not the usual luminosity that came from the old banged up little screen, but an odd red glow that seemed to be quite sharp and there was an odd red liquid that dripped from it, but she didn't think much of it, only that it was quite possibly the odd signal that she was getting.

Still, it had felt nice to know that Cecil was still around.

After all, he had been quite nice to her, when she had first started out as an intern for the radio. 

It was nice, somewhat, to have the possibility of someone waiting for you to come home.

(Provided they eat and sleep and do the other regular things that they do whenever you're not there or maybe you are there and they just can't see you? 

Maybe you can just phase through them, like a ghost, or maybe the wind.) 

(She doesn't know why there are lighthouses, or oak doors that stand up with no support, or why she cannot see the metal trees that protect her from the clouds, but she thinks - and it's only after she gets through to Cecil - that she can go through the light, the little light that shines through the door, in this old house. )

She takes a breath to reassure herself that it's not anxiety, it's just her _concern_ for getting home later than usual, and there's bound to be a mountain high pile of paperwork left for her to do once she gets back and while she hates doing paperwork, she'd take mountain high piles of paperwork even though we all know mountains don't exist - over this odd wave of worry that floods through her.

She steps through the door and the blinding little light, and there's a quiet smile on her face, that maybe things will be alright - that she'll be safe, and she hopes that Cecil doesn't worry too much. 

One can only take so many upset meals because they worried too much, and she didn't need Cecil to worry over her, so she kept on telling herself - 

_You're coming home. You're coming home. You're coming home._

ii.  
It's odd, but somehow she ends up sitting around and thinking of the times that she's spent listening to Cecil rant about Carlos and how he's this perfect guy with lovely hair and eyes and she thinks she hasn't seen anyone be so terribly happy at the mere mention of someone else's name. 

It's weird even, but she thinks that Cecil with a smile is a nice sort of thing, and suggests that maybe they can go and have a little movie night or something - she'd like to get to know Carlos, and maybe Cecil and him could spend some time together , off of work. 

She doesn't expect Cecil to jump up and pull her into a hug over spilled coffee and she lets out a cry as she tries to save as many papers as possible from the coffee attack.

Still, they had backed each other up when Management came snooping around, saying that it was a freak accident where the coffee cup had grown legs and had tried to crawl away from them but ended up stumbling and spilling the contents of its being everywhere. 

 

It was a cloudy night - foggy even, when they had arrived at her house and she had everything planned out - terrible chick flicks and popcorn and nachos even, and there was pizza in the fridge and she thinks she could maybe whip up some pancakes or cupcakes even, as long as she doesn't confuse the salt with the sugar this time.

Still, she doesn't expect Cecil to be so _giddy_ and she thinks it suits him - it's even sorta cute, in a weird sort of "You're my higher up and this is probably not the most professional way of doing things but uh there's bad chick flicks all around and food so I mean " - way. 

Carlos is terribly charming - smooth smiles and he has some sort of weird curiousity with clocks - there's a ratty old cuckoo clock that's been around on that wall in the living room corridor for ages - it doesn't work, last time she checked. 

Still, she wonders why he feels like fiddling with it so much, but he smiles and says something about science and Cecil can only chime in and say that "It's perfectly alright Dana, Carlos knows what he's doing-- I am starving though!" - to which she can only nod and laugh and tells them to make themselves comfortable while she gets the nachos out and heats them up along with some popcorn. 

It's nice really, somehow they end up bickering over what chick flick is the worst and which one has that sort of hidden meaning in it that makes everything that was so far fetched and ridiculous seem to actually make sense .

Halfway through she must have drifted off to sleep, but it was a nice sort of sleep, the sort where everything was warm and nice and she remembers waking up to the smell of cinnamon filling the apartment and she could only rub her eyes and blink sleepily until she sees Cecil smiling from the kitchen and says "Finally you're up , Dana. I was feeling hungry so I'm making some apple spice pancakes -- if you don't mind that is. Carlos has a habit of carrying around apples with him and I figured why not use them for something worthwhile."

She can only smile and nod and goes to put on the kettle . 

They start their morning off with pancakes and hair that's this way and that but she thinks it's warm and nice and feels like family.

(And she wouldn't have it any other way.) 

iii.

She makes one last call once she gets out of the odd house with the lighthouse photographs and windows and frames - 

Makes one small call to Cecil, just to make him not worry.   
And maybe, she'll be home. 

Soon enough, she'll be home with her brother and mother and she could sit around the kitchen table and tell them about everything that happened. 

It's part of her message- the little waring - better something than nothing -   
_" Something very large is coming._

_I’ve got to go._

_I’ll call when I can._

_Tell my mother and brother I’m out of the dog park, and I am safe, for now._

_Thank you, Cecil.”_

iv.

He ends the program the way that he always does, with the same five words that he usually says - 

_Good Night, Night Vale._

_Good Night._ \-- 

shuts off the 'ON AIR' sign and sighs, taking off his headseat and stumbling out of the station slowly.

He doesn't talk about it, doesn't even think - just calls Carlos and he doesn't say hello, which is quite rude of Carlos, if Cecil might think so but it's enough to just hear Carlos say - 

"She'll be fine. She said so herself, she's safe for now, Cecil."

He can only nod (and mutter about how stupid he looks because clearly Carlos isn't there to _see_ him nod but he just says "Yes, of course - you're right Carlos."

It's enough to hear Carlos say - "Hey, want to have a movie night? We can watch chick flicks and you can make apple spice pancakes again."

Cecil responds with "I'd like that" -- and the sky seems to draw close, a light rain slowly falling down on the empty streets. 

_'It's fine'_ , he thinks to himself as he looks up at the sandy dunes in the distance and smiles faintly.

_You're coming home soon, Dana._


	5. Old Cat Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are floating cats, a little bit of the blues, and jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also up on tumblr uwu!
> 
> chrysanthemumskies @tumblr

i.

There is a hum that reaches his ears – it’s a quiet, warm hum .  
Something like bees, almost. 

The sky is dark like black old ink, coiled up like a snake humming along in the shadow of the moon - _or were those stars?_ \- and there is smoke that crawls its way up from the open window of the radio station, an old friend perhaps, or the remains of a burnt grey photograph that has nothing left but ashes that no one remembers. 

It’s a slow day – there’s not much news – certainly no updates on Dana as of yet – and needless to say there’s something like uncertainty sitting inside of Cecil’s chest – something like a nest of birds who seemed to be trapped in his lungs – or something weird like that since he still hasn’t gotten his coffee yet, and he’s half asleep, so really there’s no reason why Station Management is a howling menace at one in the afternoon and really now, he just got this new shirt of his dry cleaned – there really wasn’t any room for him to get blood on it again.

He wonders if he should take a day off – there seems to be something in the air that makes him sluggish and slow and tired and undoubtedly sad which is odd because there’s no need for him to be sad -- _is there ?_

He doesn’t really understand why, but thinks that the radio station is a lot emptier without Dana there – after all, there’s no sound of rustling papers, or old ceramic cups clinking against the wooden table tops, sliding across slowly, sluggishly as the hot coffee would dance along the rim of the mug as he would take it with a smile and swirl it around a bit – lazy and relaxed and content. 

There is something missing, and he doesn’t know why or how or what it is, but he knows that he needs to be alone , for a little bit. 

He doesn’t answer his phone, leaves it off on vibrate. 

ii.

It is _Good Night , Night Vale , Good Night._ and the _‘click’_ of the ON AIR button shutting off, swivel chair sliding across the floor and phone buzzing like a nest of angry hornets.

He doesn’t say anything, just closes up the booth, turns off the lights, and stumbles out of the station, an old song dances along his lips but he doesn’t remember it’s name or who sings it, just that he feels a little better, a little lighter on his feet.

It was a dark and stormy night, and Cecil slept like the dead. 

iii.

Carlos was worried – naturally – when Cecil wouldn’t answer his calls or his text messages and he had thought about coming in to the radio station and he had stopped by, but one of the interns had said that Cecil wasn’t in, and that he should maybe try and come back at a later day or something along those lines.

He had visited the bathroom where Khoshekh was there, floating and staring at him through glass feline eyes that seemed to judge him and at the same time was curious about him.

“Hi there little guy, you must be Khoshekh.” Carlos mutters, holding out his hand so that said floating cat could sniff it and maybe not kill him. 

“Mreow.” 

“Hmm I wonder – and this is really stupid of me to ask – have you seen Cecil anywhere?” 

“Mreow.”

“Riiiiight – so uh, did you?” 

“Mreow” 

“I think I may need a translator just in case – I’m not exactly fluent in floating – cat – tongue, you know.” 

Khoshekh could only roll his eyes before sniffing Carlos’ hand that was scratching him behind the ears and then biting down on it. 

“Ow! What the heck was that for!?” 

“Mre-ow!”

“Guess Cecil forgot to mention that you’re one protective cat. Wait – wait a second, you’re not _jealous_ are you? Wait no this is crazy , I’m going crazy - -- I’m standing here and talking to a _floating_ cat and asking as to whether or not it is jealous of my uh – boyfri—friend. Of my friend.” Carlos mutters to himself, before jumping as the door opens up with Cecil walking in in a bit of a slump until he sees Carlos and stands up straight and there’s just a flurry of movement as Carlos moves and gingerly wraps his arms around Cecil because he doesn’t ask why or what but he can sense that not everything’s as peachy as Cecil seemed to make things to be .

“Still worried about Dana?” is all that he says, and he can feel Cecil nod, and he mutters quietly – “It’s okay. She’s a strong girl , she’ll be home soon.” 

“I hope so Carlos, I hope so.”

Khoshekh doesn’t say much, just floats on over to where they are and wriggles between the two of them – glaring daggers at Carlos and purring at Cecil and it’s a weird little nest of arms and a floating fluff ball of a cat but it works somehow and Cecil smiles – 

Not a small little fake smile like the miniature city people who live in Lane 5 of the bowling alley place but a content smile. 

It’s enough to make him wonder if he worries for no reason, or if he just had the case of the blues.

Still, it’s enough that Carlos is there, and so is Khoshekh, floating cat and all.

Maybe that’s what it was – the cure for the blues ? 

A little love and a floating cat. 

Who would have thought.


	6. Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slight spoilers for episode 33 - Cassette; 
> 
> Old tapes and a hissing snake, or - the past and the mirrors that seem to crouch up behind him everywhere he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also up on tumblr uwu 
> 
> you can find me @ chryansthemumskies

I. 

He crushes the casette tape slowly - warm fingers pressing down on the small rectangular thing, slowly feeling the plastic break, the old flimsy tape spewing out and coiling like a hissing snake, whirring and tangling with his fingers but he doesn’t care - just stays calm and tells himself to breathe. 

After all, past performance doesn’t tell what the future holds in store. 

He should be concerned as to why he can’t remember it, why he can’t remember having a brother, or hollow eyes that seem to follow him everywhere.

Maybe it’s just some odd part of his brain that decided to shut off for a bit.

Maybe it was just his teenage years - maybe he was a tad reckless, and couldn’t remember anything past the radio station? 

Surely he would remember being a intern at the station? 

Maybe he’ll dig around in the archives later, if Station Management doesn’t decide to slap a bloody notice on his door while he wasn’t looking or howl at him from the confines of their office.

 

There’s something that tugs at him from beneath his eyelids and he feels tired - lethargic, as if someone had punched him a few times in the gut. 

Or something like that .

He doesn’t notice the blood that drips down his hand, staining the cuffs of his shirt until it’s a small quiet _drip drip drip_ upon the carpet in the station office and he could only look and there’s something quiet brewing in the confines of his chest and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s a terribly old and lonely feeling, he thinks to himself. 

It’s as if a weight that’s been neglected from the world and from his skin suddenly decided to drag him down and crush him.

He closes his eyes, and lets the dark calm wash over him. 

 

ii.

It’s Carlos who finds him, eyes furrowed in worry but he doesn’t say much, only rubs his eyes and notices that there’s a blood soaked bandage wrapped around his hand and he doesn’t quite remember how that happened - he was fairly certain that there wasn’t any bandages on his hand (or blood) before he let the dark calm wash over him but then he looks up and sees Carlos and somehow it clicks and he just lets out a small huff of - 

“You didn’t have to do that Carlos” - 

because really he would’ve been just fine, but Carlos just stares him down and mutters “You were covered in a lot of blood when I came in, so _yes_ I did have to do that, Cecil.” 

There’s some sort of tension between them before Cecil lets out a quiet sigh and maybe it’s the cold winter that’s slowly seeping through the cracks of the radio station, that slowly makes the chills creep up his spine even though really, he shouldn’t be able to feel anything of that sort. 

 

It’s just one simple question that Carlos asks - all fire eyed and angry, but not the explosive sort of anger - he was the simmering , quiet sort.

The sort of anger that is like burning whisky, that’ll slowly burn and bring you back to reality’s cold hands but it’ll warm you up from the inside out.

That’s the sort of anger that Carlos was. 

 

“What happened, Cecil?” 

 

Iii.

He thinks of shadows watching, slinking and moving behind him but he doesn’t really mind - he just stares past Carlos, watches the windows that lead to empty radio rooms, and everything seems to be far too slow, as if time had slowed down to a simple stop, yet the clock kept on ticking.

 

_tick_  
　　 tock   
　　Tick  
　　 tock   
Time seems to stop, but he just lets a few words slip out and it’s enough for him look at Carlos - perfect perfect Carlos - and there’s a tired soul in his place, not Cecil the radio host. 

“The Casette.” 

Iv. 

Maybe it’s something with photographs, something that drains the life out of you slowly.

No, not your life, just your existence as a substantial soul on a plane of existence.

Something like that .

He was far too tired to care , and instead, Carlos just shakes his head and touches his hand gently - not too much, not too little, just a little reassurance .

“It’s okay Cecil, I’m here.”

He lets Carlos kiss him - it’s a chaste kiss, but it warms him up, and he blinks once, twice, and a small tired smile laces itself onto his face . 

 

And for now, it was enough.


	7. Hush Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old lazy days and the quiet bliss of finally collapsing into a pile of limbs, warm breaths mingling and it's enough. 
> 
> slight spoilers for episode 35 - Lazy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also up on tumblr uvu you can find me there @ chrysanthemumskies.tumblr.com !

i.

When they say lazy day, they certainly mean it.  
At least, that’s what it feels like, bones slumping away, skin slowly crawling away, trying to hide from the heat that seems to permeate everything and everyone.

It’s only a force of habit that Cecil manages to make the sounds come out of his mouth in a _one, two three_ repeat sort of motion. 

It’s mechanical, a simple memorization process that he remembers how to do, and out of habit, does it. 

It’s enough when the trees start to dance around in his peripheral vision and the sun seems to be larger than life itself. 

(what trees? Last he checked they had gone away, migrated elsewhere.   
They’re probably having a party in the Whispering Forest, that’s for sure. 

It hurt to think, there was too much effort, so he doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t force his cells to conjure up any sort of thoughts , just focuses on not slipping away into a nonexistent void.) 

He wonders how Carlos does it, how he has the energy to move on about and not want to utterly curl up and collapse into a pile of limbs and call it a day.

What an odd and terrible thing , lazy days were. 

ii.   
Carlos doesn’t feel it – he’s used to this sort of heat, the stagnant crackle of the air as the static flows through it, and it’s something like a hazy fog.

It clogs up the streets, floats over Night Vale like a iridescent powder that manages to paralyze its residents, slowly eating away at them because they’re used to moving, used to some sort of uncanny event occurring.   
To him, they are uncanny.

To them, they are the (seemingly) mundane events of their day to day lives.

That is, if you believe in the concept of time and ‘day to day’ things existing, but that’s only if you have enough energy to believe in the first place.

He thinks it’s the perfect day to work on cleaning his humble home, mowing the lawn while chatting with the grass.

(Everyone knows, the more you talk to a plant the better it grows. It also lessens the chance of it eating you alive in the event that the plants finally rise up and overtake their humble little desert community. 

You have been warned.) 

The grass, (not) to his surprise, talks back, and says how refreshing it is, to be cut and trimmed. Almost like what you humans get at those barber shops? Yes something like that. 

He thinks it’s very interesting, and part of him wants to sit down and pull out a tape recorder and start analyzing the grass – maybe there’s some sort of new component in its DNA make up that makes it talk back to him. 

Maybe it’s sensory genes, or some component or maybe it’s via photosynthesis or a reaction to the lawn mower? 

He doesn’t know, but he could only shake his head and think that he’ll figure it out some other day. 

iii.

When Cecil finally reaches the end of his time for the broadcast, he looks at his phone that buzzes with a text from Carlos – something about finishing early and how he made dinner if he wanted to come over later, but that he’d be taking a nap for now – he could only let a smile slip onto his face.

He certainly seemed to have enough energy to do that, he figured. 

It was oddly enough, for him to slowly manage to pack his things up and walk down the streets, heat waning and the sun and old ghosts humming along behind him and his shadow. 

It was enough, when he opens the door with a twist and turn of his keys and finds Carlos draped on the couch, limbs tangling and glasses haphazardly balanced on the bridge of his nose.   
Cecil is quiet as he takes off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly and letting them rest on top of shoes, an amused grin on his face as he makes his way over to the couch, crouching down and gently taking Carlos’ glasses off, folding them up and placing them on the coffee table that was nearby. 

Carlos stirs, stretching like a cat and lets out a content sigh before opening his eyes and smiling. 

“You’re home early, Cecil.” 

“Oh well, it was a lazy day at the station, you know, not much going on.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

It’s enough, in all honesty, so they curl up together and let the lull of the trees whispering carried on by the wind gently carry them off to sleep, hands entwined and limbs tangled up. 

It was enough, for that day, lazy and all. 

It was alright, in the end. They had survived not being turned into walking corpses, after all.   
That was a victory in itself. 

For now, that is. 

They dreamed of old abandoned houses in forests and old friends who seemed to dance with the wind, and old Khoshekh who seemed to be liking Carlos more and more now, or at least, he doesn’t seem to want to claw his face into ribbons, which Cecil was grateful for, because Carlos’ face was quite lovely, if he were to say so himself. 

It was enough, with the whispering wood humming about in the distance and the sun dancing around with the clouds and stars in its own quiet way. 

They were tired, and sleep was an old friend who they needed.


End file.
